


Tiers and Hopes

by ShanaRHager



Category: Super Smash Brothers
Genre: Drama, Multi, My feelings about the Smash tier lists, Psychological study, Sociological Study, Story Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7104202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShanaRHager/pseuds/ShanaRHager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This sociological and psychological drama originally planned as a story arc in LiR2016 focuses on the dynamics the tier lists have instigated in Super Smash Brothers.  Smash 64-centric, but will also cover a bit of Melee and Brawl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The List

            Before the unification of several different gaming entities, Smash was a low-key get-together comprising of twelve representatives from the Nintendo universe.  The idea was engendered by the mysterious but benevolent Master Hand, who decided to knock down the borders between Nintendo’s different worlds by calling the Original Twelve together to test their skills, first against one another, and finally against him.  He left time for fun and games, too, quickly establishing several lounges, a spa, lodging for the fighters, a Training Room and goodness knows what else.  Thanks to the giant glove’s efforts, deep friendships had sprung up among the twelve in no time.

            It started off something like this.  On April 26, 1999, the Original Twelve entered the halls of the Smash Mansion for the first time.  Master Hand quickly situated them in a spacious room known as the Reception Area for an initial bonding period and to introduce himself and explain how the tournament would be organized.  After introductions, Master assigned the Smashers to their own bedrooms and declared the rest of the day a “leisure day”.

            The next morning, everyone woke up at around 7a.m. and sat in the cafeteria to eat breakfast.  After breakfast, Master summoned everyone to the Assembly Hall to announce that the tournament’s first matches had been arranged.  Those and future matches would be tacked onto a corkboard in the Main Hall.  After everyone got a good look at their schedule for the day, they retreated to the lounge for some last minute decompression.  The fighters headed off to meet their opponents at 9a.m. sharp.

            Master Hand was extremely pleased at what he saw that day, and the days after.  Not only the bonds forged, but the tenacity displayed on the battlefield.  Organizing this was a shot in the dark, and it appeared to have paid off.

            Yet a few weeks later, the dynamic of the tournament would be shifted.  And it all began with a piece of paper…

            …the tier list.

 

            Master Hand brought his giant palm down on his alarm clock and groggily floated out of bed.  He went straight to the shower, doused himself with cold water and then took a four-minute shower before drying off, attending to his toilette and then fixing himself a hearty meal of scrambled eggs, bacon and French toast.  Once he was full, he sounded the breakfast call for the Smashers and retreated to his office.

            He sat at his desk, booted up his computer and signed in to his dial-up Internet service.  As soon as he clicked on his e-mail account:

            “You’ve got mail!”

            And important mail, no less.  The e-mail was from Mr. Sakurai, the tournament’s financier.  After receiving glowing reports from Master, he had decided to increase the funds to help cover the Smashers’ expenses.  But that wasn’t what his email was about.

            A team of well-seasoned gamers, led by Mr. Sakurai, had composed a tier list to serve as a springboard for competitive play.  Master wasn’t wild about the tier list—he was certain that it would instill more hostile competition among his fighters, and he didn’t want that.  But then again, Sakurai was keeping the dough flowing in, and he knew what was best for Smash.  So why complain?

            Master looked the document over for a minute or so.  Then, he clicked “Print”.

            Low whining and humming filled the air as the printer slowly inched the piece of paper from its mouth.  Master’s fingers hovered outside its cavernous maw as the machine worked its magic.  And with one last hum, it expelled the warm paper, Master grasping it and holding it up where he could see.

            “Very nice,” he murmured.

            He began the leisurely journey from his office to the Main Hall, allowing the tier list to dangle from his fingers.  To get to the Main Hall, he first had to traverse the Housing Area, where the twelve bedrooms were located.  Doors opened slightly, curious pairs of eyes peeping out at the powerful entity and the paper he had in his fingers.  Master Hand knew they were watching, but he paid them no mind.  He’d let them discover what he was holding on their own.

            Out of one door peeped Nintendo’s unofficial spokesperson and Smash’s all-around fighter, Mario “Jumpman” Mario.  He entered the workforce as a carpenter on the lookout for a certain hairy ape and switched from construction sites to sewers, sinks and toilets after two years.  Another two years went by before he ventured into a fantasyland, becoming enraptured by its beautiful, fair-haired and gentle ruler and helping her fight off a hulking reptile of an enemy.  Once peace was restored, Mario instantly became a champion of sports, dabbled in medicine and even refereed a boxing match.  With his red getup, Mario was as iconic as iconic would get.

            Out of another door peeped the King of the Jungle, DK.  This grinning ape wearing a tie was currently on good terms with Mario.  The cease-fire was initiated shortly before Mario launched his plumbing career, with DK deciding to change his ways and his former trainer agreeing to have him sent back home to his family.  DK helped defeat King K. Rool and his band of thieves before settling in the aforementioned fantasy wonderland, soon becoming a staple in the many kart races and sporting events it hosted.  He enjoyed eating bananas, playing his bongos and expanding—well, you get the idea.

            Out of a third door peeped the Hero of Time, Link.  The wielder of the Master Sword was an expert ocarina player and was quickly recognized on the battlefield by his high-pitched cry of “Hyaaaah!”  He bore the Triforce of Courage and rode into adventures astride his loyal horse, Epona.  His tiny faerie, Navi, was always by his side (“Hey, listen!”).  Link was still a boy, but he showed remarkable strength and bravery.  Hyrule should be counting its blessings.

            Out of a fourth door peeped the helmeted visage of Samus Aran, space warrior.  Her life hadn’t been an easy one.  She was born on a colony of Planet Zebes which was later attacked by space pirates.  Her parents had met their bloody end at the hands of the pirates’ leader, Ridley.  The orphaned girl was adopted and trained in combat by the people known as the Chozo, the creators of the Varia suit she wore during all of her adventures.  Samus took on Mother Brain and the deadly Metroid race before squaring off against Ridley and defeating him multiple times.  Perched on her shoulder was a baby Metroid she decided to raise as her own.

            Out of a fifth door poked the head of Yoshi, the lovable green dinosaur.  According to legend, Yoshi and his brethren raised Mario when he was a tiny baby, before he settled in Brooklyn, New York.  Yoshi wore brown sneakers and used his sticky tongue to grab opponents.  The opponent would be swallowed and laid as a spotted egg from which they could eventually escape.  Yoshi maintained his role as Mario’s helpful buddy, giving him rides in his quests since 1991.  By himself, Yoshi saved the Happy Tree from being chopped down.

            Out of a sixth door puffed the rotund, rosaceous body of the cute but capable Star Warrior, Kirby.  He was considered premature by Star Warrior terms, since the starship he slept in went into Warp Mode before he was fully developed.  That starship crash-landed in Dreamland, located on the planet Popstar.  Despite his big eyes, stubby arms and overall naïve worldview, Kirby used his powerful Copy Abilities to defeat fearsome monsters.  In Smash, he gained prominence by inhaling foes and copying their standard special moves, gaining an adorable hat for each fighter he imitated.

            Out of a seventh door flicked the ears of Fox McCloud, leader of a mercenary team known as Star Fox.  He’d solemnly affirmed to protect the Lylat System until his dying breath, and though he could be a bit cocky and snobbish, he’d upheld that vow.  He overcame personal tragedy, the death of his father, James, to triumph over Andross.  Fox became a staple in Smash by way of his quick, martial-arts style attacks, his Blaster, his Reflector and his Firefox.

            Out of an eighth door peeped Pikachu, Electric-type Mouse Pokémon with his lightning bolt-shaped tail and his red cheeks, where his electricity was stored.  He was the poster boy of these pocket monsters, which had tournaments of their own, conducted by trainers who caught, taught and nurtured them.  In Smash, Pikachu’s electricity gave him quite the competitive edge over the other fighters, and with his Quick Attack, he could vault to safety at any moment.  After a long day, the fighters wanted nothing more than to curl up with Pikachu and a good book.

            After meeting their gazes, Master Hand passed by four rooms with their doors tightly shut.  These were the rooms of the Formidable Four, four secret fighters simply bursting with anticipation over unveiling their battling prowess.  You’ll hear about them later.

            Now arriving at his destination, Master Hand stuck the tier list onto the bulletin board, right next to the day’s matchups.  He stood back and nodded admiringly at his work.  Then, he turned around and floated back the same way he’d come, the peering eyes now retreating back into the doors.  He had no way of knowing he’d just set an exciting day into motion.

            While Master was putting up the tier list, one fighter had observed his actions intently.  This fighter now emerged from his hiding spot and crept over to the list on catlike feet.

            It was none other than Mario, Mr. Video Game Himself, and he was itching to see his position before the area became swamped by a frenzied crowd.

            Little did he know that he’d get way more than he bargained for…


	2. Installing the Pecking Order

**_Social stratification_ ** **(n): _a system by which a society of people are ranked in a hierarchal arrangement.  “_** **_In the United States, it is perfectly clear that some groups have greater status, power, and wealth than other groups.”_ **

**\--Kimberly Moffitt, “Social Stratification: Definition, Theories and Examples” n.d.; retrieved from** [ **http://study.com/academy/lesson/social-stratification-definition-theories-examples.html** ](http://study.com/academy/lesson/social-stratification-definition-theories-examples.html)

            So this was the tier list.  Printed on ordinary, eight-by-eleven inch white paper from ordinary printing ink made from a combination of cyan, yellow and pink colors.  Listed from top to bottom were the twelve fighters, each denoted by a cartoonish, 2-D portrait.  Beside each portrait was a number between 1 and 12.

            A finger, gloved in the color of the paper, slowly trailed down the tier list.  Mario’s gloved finger, searching for his own picture, skimming past the dark numbers on the crisp sheet of paper.  And as the numbers counted upward with the precision of a machine, Mario’s brow began to furrow, deepening as the numbers grew.

            1…

            2…

            3…

            4…

            5…

            6…

            There!

            In the number 7 spot, just below the middle, there he was.  Mario tapped his picture contemplatively, his lips pursing slightly as he thought about being ranked one slot below a certain pink Balloon Pokémon, two slots below Yoshi and glaringly outranked by a vulpine, a racecar driver, a fluffy pink marshmallow and a yellow mouse who shot electricity.  After bestowing defeat after defeat upon a princess-stealing turtle, Mario was stunned to be ranked so low.  His status as an all-around had earned him not only a Thumbs-Up from Master Hand but also unofficial second-in-command duties and the privilege of being a spokesperson for the Smashers.  He half-expected to be among the top three or four, at the very least.  So far, he’d performed amazingly and showed his opponents as well as the audience why he made the Toads of his new home feel safe at night.  What was he doing in the middle tier?

            Disheartened, Mario leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.  After all he’d done to keep his Princess and her subjects safe, all Master Hand had to offer him was the number seven slot?  Who did he think he was?  What made an electric mouse and a puffball better than him?  Yes, he lost some matches as well as won some, but of all the tier positions, he just had to be stuck in the middle?  He had a good mind to march right up to that disembodied glove and…

            He immediately shoved those angry, self-pitying thoughts from his mind.  It wasn’t Master Hand who composed this tier list, anyway.  All heroes had weaknesses as well as strengths, and just because he wasn’t as ranked as high as he hoped didn’t mean that he was no longer capable of protecting the Mushroom Kingdom.  Besides, being in the middle was not that bad.  And he couldn’t count out the fact that seven was a lucky number.  While he questioned his placement on the tier list, he felt that he could make do with it.

            Having accepted his lower-than-desired ranking, Mario smiled.  “Okeydokey,” he said to himself.  Maybe he’d order a plate of spaghetti and meatballs at the cafeteria.  He’d feel substantially better after that.

            This state of nirvana was short-lived due to thoughts of another fighter he held near and dear to his heart.  He allowed his finger to resume its skimming journey, and as the numbers continued to increase and he passed the likes of Samus and DK, the red-capped hero who smashed bricks and blocks with his fist grew acutely sick to his stomach.

            8.

            9.

            10.

            11.

            Oh, _Dio_ , no.

            His finger was now at the last slot on the tier list, twelfth place.  And there, without any speck of doubt, was the portrait of the most valuable, reliable and loving sidekick a hero could ever have—his little brother.

            This had to be some sort of mistake.  Luigi couldn’t be that awful—he just couldn’t!  He was taller than Mario and also jumped higher.  Mario had attended every last one of his matches as a spectator.  Every.  Last.  One.  And in all of them, he had been left breathless by Luigi’s speed, power, versatility and innovation.  In his moveset had come an assortment of combo tools, and his favorite combo finisher was a handy, quaint little move known as the Super Jump Punch.  Mario had this move, as well, but Luigi’s variation came equipped with this secret spot he had to work to get his foes into.  If he was successful, then— ** _PIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGGGGG!_**   One fiery wowza of an uppercut, coming up!

            But like Mario, Luigi had flaws.  One of them being his notoriously poor traction, which could both hurt and help him.  The prime flaw was that in Smash, Luigi was considered Mario’s inferior clone.  Heck, that was all he’d been considered these days.  He shared Mario’s attacks, or most of them, but their damage outputs were noticeably lower.  His dash attack, while unique, was weaker, being a wild flurry of punches.  Luigi was a floaty fighter with overall poor mobility and approach issues, and his matchups were considered among the worst in the tournament thus far.  Insult to injury?  Luigi had happily filled out the application to enter the tournament, hoping to escape the looming shadow of his elder brother.  Once he had come out of hiding, so to speak, he was going to set this tournament ablaze (figuratively speaking, of course) with what he could do!  And how did these suits treat him?  They decided that he was nothing, stuck him dead last and cast him back into obscurity.  Life could be cruel sometimes.

            “Mamma-mia,” sighed Mario, hand over his forehead, as he turned away from the list.  There were no options.  He had to tell him, had to cushion the blow somehow.  He had to help him process this setback.  But he didn’t want to be the one blasting Luigi’s aspirations to bits.  Luigi had his moments of uncertainty while filling out the application and while getting situated that first day.  This piece of news would be detrimental to his self-esteem.

            In the back of his mind, Mario knew that Luigi would sense that he was hiding something.  All siblings would.  And when he saw that list and figured out that his big bro knew beforehand, there would be trouble.  Luigi would probably not speak to him for a long time, perhaps never again.  It was akin to choosing between risking his life trekking through eight worlds and leaving the Princess in her enemy’s greedy claws.  Both sounded awful, yet one was better than the other.

            Perhaps there was a way to work around this…

 

            With leaden footsteps, Mario headed over to Luigi’s room, located next to his, to break the morale-diminishing news.

            Now, these two rooms were connected by a side door located inside each room, allowing one brother to visit the other at leisure.  Other rooms had this accommodation, but these two utilized it more than the rest of the roster combined.  So much, in fact, that they left their side door partially open most of the time.

            Mario took a deep breath and knocked on Luigi’s door.  “Luigi!” he called.

            “Come in,” replied the voice of his baby bro.

            Mario entered the room and quickly found his sibling, rocking out to some grunge tunes on his stereo.

            As far as job choices, Luigi loved rolling up his sleeves and doing hands-on work.  While Mario labored on construction sites, Luigi worked as a small-time mechanic.  In 1983, once the tension with DK deflated, Luigi suggested that they enter the plumbing business together.  For two years they worked in the sewage pipes, one of which led them to that mushroomy fantasy world.  In 1986, they set up a business of their own, Mario Bros. Plumbing, graduating to less stinky jobs such as toilets and sinks.  This business flourished while they commuted regularly   between the Mushroom Kingdom and Brooklyn via Warp Pipes.  Both bros were equally credited when it came to plumbing jobs, and their salaries were nearly the same.  Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case when it came to their more heroic pursuits.

            Although he was concealed in Mario’s shadow most of the time, Luigi had a small degree of popularity among the Toads and New Yorkers back home.  As previously stated, Luigi was taller than Mario and a higher jumper.  His hair was also styled similarly, wavy, with a few short bangs at the back, but its brown color was a shade darker than Mario’s.  Bold blue eyes enhanced any emotion playing across his face.  Three years earlier, he was mysteriously excluded from an adventure involving going through portraits in the Princess’s castle and collecting various Stars.  However, he actively participated in a kart racing tournament shortly thereafter, where he performed to the best of his ability, taking the shebang by storm.  Though he didn’t really know it yet, Luigi had many loyal and adoring fans eagerly awaiting his appearance.

            Presently, Luigi turned down his music and smiled at his big bro.  “Hey, Mario!”

            The two plumbers shared a loving embrace.

            “Isn’t this place amazing?” gushed Luigi.  “There are multiple lounges, an ice cream parlor, spacious Training Areas—even an arcade and a movie theater!  Master Hand’s spoiling us like kids!”

            “Tell me about it,” smiled Mario.  “How’s your day been?”

            “Aside from a few bruises, I can’t complain,” winked Luigi.  “Oh, and thanks for sitting up in the front row where I can see you.  How’s your day in Smash going so far?”

            “Smashing,” shrugged Mario.  “Say, you want to go to the cafeteria and get some spaghetti?  It’s on me.”

            Luigi scrutinized Mario.  “You’re hiding something.”

            Mario sighed deeply; he knew his brother would see through him.  “Yep.”

            “What’s going on, Bro?  I mean, what’s _really_ going on?”

            Mario prayed to his Star Sprites for strength as he steered Luigi toward the bed.  “You might want to sit down for this,” he warned, “and you’re going to need a stiff drink, too.”

            “Just tell me.”

            “L, Master Hand put the tier list up a few minutes ago,” Mario began.

            “Yeah, he _did_ say something about a tier list,” mused Luigi.  “You saw it?”

            “Yes.  I was curious as to where I was, and I wanted to sneak a peek before word got out, so after MH left, I went over there and looked.”

            “And?”

            “I was in the B-tier, seventh place.”

            Luigi shrugged.  “That’s not too bad.  I’m proud of you.  Who was first?”

            “Pikachu,” responded Mario, “and Kirby came in second.”

            There was a beat between them.

            “What else are you not telling me?” asked Luigi.

            Mario’s heart thudded in his chest.  “Well—I saw your ranking, too,” he confessed.  “It didn’t look good.”

            “So, you’re saying—what are you saying?” demanded Luigi.  “Where did they place me on the list?”

            “Lu—I’m sorry to say that you’re ranked pretty low,” sighed Mario.  “Truly, I regret having to tell you this.  I know that you hoped to break out on your own in this tournament.  But don’t get discouraged.  So far, you’ve shown us all some impressive stuff.”

            “Who was I to expect more?” Luigi asked after a tense silence.  “Nobody knows me, and if they do, they know me as ‘the Green Mario’.  Of course, those guys in the suits don’t think I’ll last a year in this place.”

            “I’m so sorry, Lil’ Bro,” Mario reiterated.  “I just thought you should know before it hits you in the face.”

            There was barely any motion in Luigi’s eyes now.  He was probably trying to process what Mario had told him.  “I could use that stiff drink right now,” he said finally.  “Would you care to join me?”

 

            The existence of the tier list wasn’t made public until shortly after noon.  It was enough time for Luigi to steel himself for the reality of his placement—or so he thought.

            “Left hand—green!”

            In the meantime, Luigi was willing to cast those thoughts away in favor of a nice game of Twister with the other members of the Formidable Four.  There they were, tangled up on the white mat with the red, blue, yellow and green dots on it, giggling and shrieking and struggling to maintain equilibrium as Fox called out direction determined by spinning a wheel.

            We’ve already met Luigi, the tour-de-force of a younger brother and a pretty darn good kart racer, to say the least.  He favored green as his color, the color of the hat bouncing around on his head as he twisted himself up with three other bodies.  This hat had the letter “L” stamped right in the center, and let me tell you, this “L” didn’t stand for “loser”.  He always looked forward to a sporting event or a kart race back home, for prior to this year, they were the primary outlets for his stress and aggression over Mario getting all of the accolades for the adventures they took on together, leaving him with hardly anything.  Yet in spite of the fame inequality between them and the dynamics it fostered, Luigi loved his brother truly, madly and deeply, and he’d do anything to defend him.

            The pink, Fairy-type Balloon Pokémon occupying the middle spot of the tier list was Jigglypuff.  This little cutie had the ability to put her foes to sleep using her gentle, irresistible melodies.  Whilst in this slumber, said foes could be smashed out of the arena or drawn on using a black, felt-tipped marker.  When the latter happened, hilarity erupted.  Besides singing, taking a nap was another secret weapon for Jiggs.  If she fell asleep right next to an opponent, she’d launch them sky high.  Jiggs would be highly recommended for people who were stressed out or had sleeping problems.

            The masked, helmeted man with the amazing abs was Douglas Jay Falcon.  All that was known about him was that he raced for the F-Zero Grand Prix and was also a bounty hunter.  In Smash, Captain Falcon constantly exhorted the other fighters to “Show me ya moves!”  He couldn’t take his eyes off of Samus and spent most of his time flirting with her.  Publicly, she denied a crush on him, but secretly, she flirted right back.  Without question, Falcon’s ticket to victory was his…”FALCOOOOOOOOOOON PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWNCH!”  Wow—it looked like a falcon, too!

            The thirteen-year-old with the striped shirt and baseball cap was Ness, the boy from Onett.  Ness was a whiz at doing yo-yo tricks and was quite eager to show them off to his opponents, with very painful results.  Also, Ness was armed and ready with his baseball bat, either to hit a home run in a leisurely baseball game or to batter up on the battlefield.  When a meteor crashed into his backyard, Ness was catapulted into an adventure alongside his friends, Paula, Jeff and Poo, to stop the evil Gigyas from taking over the world.  Along the way, they learned a powerful technique known as PSI.  This PSI fueled Ness’s attacks in Smash, and three key moves made it in as his specials: PK Fire, PK Thunder (taught to him by Paula) and PSI Magnet.

            These four secret fighters wasted no time establishing common ground and forming a mini-“fraternity”, so to speak.  They spent most of their time together, eating together, lounging together and even hosting sleepovers together.  Sure, they hung around with the Great Eight, too, but their logic was that all hidden characters should stick together.

            In a few short hours, though, all of that would change.

            Fox continued to spin the wheel and call out commands to put this hand or foot on that color.  These directives were growing increasingly impossible as the limbs of one became entwined with the limbs of another, hence the name of the game.  The Formidable Four squealed with delight as they tried to remember which limb was where and move it as instructed, feeling the limbs below them shifting and threatening to knock them off balance.  They laughed, not giving a care for the moment, as someone’s rump got in someone else’s face and hands or stubs grabbed an ankle, as they looked out from between their legs and saw their new friends upside down.  The ensnaring game eventually devolved into a twisted mess on the mat, squirming and roughhousing and shrieking insanely.

            “Hey, you guys?”

            They looked up to see Samus standing in the doorway.

            “Hiya, Sam,” greeted Douglas.  “What brings you here?”

            “If you’re finished playing around on the floor, Master Hand put the tier list up,” announced Samus.

            “Oh, boy!” cried Fox, dropping the spinner and bounding out of the room.

            One by one, the Formidable Four picked themselves up, pulled their shoes back on (for those who had any) and filed out after the space commander.

            Remembering Mario’s words, Luigi tried not to elevate his expectations too much.  He tried to imagine how low he’d be ranked.  He tried to be ready.

            They spilled into the crowd of the other eight Smashers, fighting their way to the front for a better look at the piece of paper tacked onto the bulletin board beside the day’s matches.  Already, there were whoops of joy, utterances of dismay, shouts of anger, cries of triumph and even some oaths as the fighters glimpsed their positions.  Luigi ignored them as he finally reached the tier list.  And as soon as he found his picture, he wished he hadn’t.

            Mario wasn’t joking.  Luigi, in fact, was ranked low on the tier list.  Pretty low.  Extremely low.  Pitifully low.

            The lowest of the low.

            He closed his eyes, and then opened them again.  Nothing had changed.  His position on that tier list hadn’t changed an inch.  He was still standing there, staring at where they’d put him.  Yells of disbelief, celebration, fulmination and condemnation swirled surreally around him.  His face had gone as white as a Boo.  For about two seconds, his heart stopped beating.  This wasn’t a sick joke.  This wasn’t a nightmare.  This was real.  This was how he was going to be viewed for the rest of the tournament.

            His power of speech returned, and with it, his own disbelieved cry:

            _“Are you freaking kidding me?!  Last place?!”_

            Mario bolted forward at the sound of his brother’s exclamation.  Everything else was gone from his mind except for the fact that his younger sibling needed him right now.

            “Excuse me!  Sorry!  Coming through!”

            Meanwhile, Luigi’s mind was going everywhere.  He thought he was doing well, well enough to be placed higher than last!  Were they doing this on purpose?  Was it their way of keeping him down, where they wanted him to be?  Every time he struggled up, someone was waiting to push him back down!  It wasn’t fair!  None of it was!

            The crushing discovery had caused him to go limp.  He had no energy to move; he was on the verge of crumpling to the ground.  His mouth opened and closed rapidly like a fish swimming in the sea.  It was as if he was trying to say something, anything—anything to make this go away and just be some delusional fantasy.  And then a sound came out from between his lips—a broken, keening sound, like a child trying to comprehend why the other kids were laughing at him just because he was different.

            “Oh, my God.  Oh, my God.  _Mio Dio_ —this isn’t happening.  No way is this happening,” he murmured over and over.

            Mario reached the front in time to see Luigi, broken and numb, mumbling listless words, his expression aghast as he stared at the list, no longer seeing it except the fact that they put him last.  As far as the red-capped hero was concerned, his efforts to ease the devastation had failed.  He felt guilty for not telling him directly, but at least he’d been honest, right?  It wasn’t like he told a bald-faced lie.

            Silently, Mario took his place by Luigi’s side.  A weight hung; he couldn’t make eye contact.  But he felt Luigi’s eyes boring into him, asking the unspoken questions, demanding an explanation.  It didn’t take long for the intensity to get to Mario, making him turn and meet his younger bro’s gaze.

            “I—I wanted to tell you,” Mario stated remorsefully.  As if _that_ would make it any better.  What kind of excuse was that?  He _kept_ that important fact from him!

            “I know,” replied Luigi, his eyes never wavering.  He had to give Mario credit for trying to lessen the impact.  Unfortunately, the blow was still mighty.  He anticipated being low after the talk with Mario, but not dead last.  Something told him that Mario had hidden a vital piece from him after the revelation, but for both of their sakes, he hadn’t pressed the matter.  He should’ve, though.  Now, Luigi would always remember that Mario knew, all this time.  While he was in his room jamming to Foo Fighters, Matchbox 20, No Doubt and other bands having their heyday in the 90s; while he was playing Twister with Ness, Falcon and Jiggs, Mario knew.  He knew that he was now considered the worst fighter on the roster, and instead of coming right out and saying it, he lied by omission.

            Mario bowed his head.  He knew Luigi had put two-and-two together.  Soothing the pain the only way he could, he raised his head, opened his arms and encircled them round the green-clad hero, drawing him against his body and transferring his warmth and comfort to him.

            To his relief, Luigi accepted the embrace, relaxing as his arms moved, in turn, to round his brother’s frame.  He interlaced his fingers behind Mario’s back to keep the hold, his chin resting atop the crown of the elder brother’s head.  One hand began to thread through Mario’s locks, the hug deepening.  The reality wasn’t so painful anymore.  Luigi understood that Mario would be there to help him through this.  He didn’t think any less of him because of that list.

            Still, he technically lied to him, so the next time they were matched together, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

            “Yoshi?”

            The plumbers shifted in their brotherly embrace to see their green dino pet with a concerned look on his face.

            “Hi, Yoshi,” they said as one.

            Yoshi padded over to his “mama”, eyes still filled with worry.  He’d been placed in the A tier along with Douglas and Fox, with a rank of 5th.  Fox was 4th, and Douglas was 3rd.  At first, Yoshi was jubilant, as he had every right to be.  He, Fox and Falcon high-fived each other and wound up in a hugfest with S tier fighters, Pikachu (1st) and Kirby (2nd).  The euphoria dissipated enough for Yoshi to glance again at the tier list, curious as to the positions of his two friends.  Luigi’s last-place rank immediately jumped at him, and suddenly, the fact that the green dino was ranked fairly high no longer mattered.  He just hated the heartbroken look on his “mama’s” face.  All he wanted was for him to smile and laugh again, as he’d done since the tournament started.

            Luigi turned to face Yoshi when the dino nuzzled his shoulder lovingly.

            “Yoshi?” the dino asked tentatively.

            Ending his hug with Mario, Luigi petted Yoshi reassuringly.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “I’m not mad at you.”

            He glanced at Mario.  “Or at you,” he went on.  Mario wasn’t so sure.

            “Truth is, I don’t know who I’m mad at,” summed up Luigi.  “Master Hand, Sakurai, the gamers who assembled this, or God—I just don’t know.”

            “Yoshi?”

            Luigi smiled sadly at Yoshi.  “Hey, when life deals me tomatoes, I make spaghetti sauce.  Speaking of which…” He cast a pointed glance toward Mario.  “…I’ll take a rain check on that spaghetti.”

            Mario stroked his brother’s cheeks, and then rubbed his shoulders.  “Listen to me,” he said.  “I don’t care what that paper says, okay?  It can say whatever it wants, but in my eyes, you’ll always be a strong fighter.  Just think about your help in rescuing the Princess, yes?”

            “I barely get any acknowledgement, but you’re right,” said Luigi.

            “You’re amazing, Luigi,” said Mario.  “You’re smart.  You’re dependable.  You’re handsome.  You’re strong.  You’re more powerful and courageous than you realize.  I pray that one day, you’ll discover that hidden spirit.”

            Luigi blushed.  “Thanks, Bro.”

            They shared one final hug.  Then, Luigi kissed Mario’s cheek and threaded his way through the crowd to locate the other “C” tiers.

            Samus glowered at Douglas as he held her hands in his.

            “I mean, we can still be together, right?” he asked.

            “Only if you agree not to rub it in,” she admonished.

            DK stomped away from the tier list, pouting over being ranked 9th and looking for bananas to drown his sorrows.

            Ness received an encouraging pep talk from a few Mr. Saturns.

            Link angrily slashed at the air with the Master Sword, yelling about how he was ranked eleventh in spite of the numerous times he’d defeated a certain dark king and restored peace to Hyrule.

            “Eleventh!” he screamed like a maniac.  “Eleventh!”

            A Polygon handed him a glass on Lon-Lon Milk, which he drained in a few gulps.

            “Thanks,” he said.  “I needed that.”

            As Fox and Falcon did a victory dance, hooting and laughing boisterously, Pikachu and Kirby simply congratulated each other on their high rankings and offered free hugs to everyone else.

            Samus, DK, Ness and Link found themselves drawn to Luigi as he approached them.  They saw tears threatening to spill, yet he steadfastly kept them in.  He couldn’t afford to break down in front of them.  They needed a source of guidance and hope.  They needed superglue to hold them together.  Though he was just dubbed the absolute worst, he was going to fulfill that role.  Mario was right—there was hidden strength in Luigi, and it was starting to come out.

            “Hey,” Luigi said to them, and they looked into his eyes and saw it, the quiet fortitude keeping him from sinking into the depths of self-pity.  “It’ll be all right.”

            The color had returned to his face, a healthy tan accelerated by constant exposure to sunlight.  His tears had spilled over, but as they sparkled on his cheeks, his lips remained firm and his jaw squared.  His cry was over before it even began.  He slipped one hand into Link’s and the other into Ness’s, prompting the other two to join them in a circle, holding hands.

            “We’re going to be okay,” Luigi assured them, knowing that they wanted to believe it with every ounce of their being.  “I promise.”

 


	3. Come Together, Come Apart

**Face _(n)_ : 5: outward appearance; 8: a front, principal, bounding or contacting surface**

**Value _(n_ ): 2: the monetary worth of a thing; also, relative worth, utility, or importance; 3: an assigned or computed numerical quantity**

**\--from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, 6 th ed (2004)**

**Face value _(n)_ : the value printed or depicted on a coin, bank note, postage stamp, etc., especially when less the actual or intrinsic value; the superficial appearance or implication of something**

**\--from Google Search**

            It was Master Hand’s idea to give his Smasher a two-hour match break after putting up the tier list, but he doubted that two hours would be enough.

            He saw it all, read it all, and knew it all.  He was the creator of this tournament; therefore, he knew what the participants were thinking and feeling.  Especially when it came to tiers.

            Master Hand was well-versed in psychology and sociology.  Even before Sakurai sent him that thing, he knew it would have many sociological and psychological effects on the fighters.  Primarily, some would let it get to their heads and use it as some sort of class system.  Higher tiers would look down on the lower tiers, and the lower tiers would feel weak, worthless and pitiful.  Psychologically, the high tiers would feel and act like they were better than all of the rest, and the low tiers would feel like peasants.  What he observed earlier enforced all of this.

            Especially with Luigi.

            He was there when the man in green fought his way to the front of the crowd, so much eagerness, excitement and hope shining on his face.  He was there when, as soon as he saw his placement, the light went out of his eyes, and he visibly deflated.  He was there as he fought back his tears and sought comfort from Mario, Yoshi and the C-tiers.  Something had told him to pull him aside and talk to him, but he felt no need to after he noticed Luigi comforting Samus, DK, Ness and Link instead of vice versa.

            As predicted, Captain Falcon and Fox were all over the place with their rankings, hamming it up, milking it dry and rubbing it in the faces of other Smashers (except Samus, in Falcon’s case, when she calmly asked him to stop).  The duo could now be seen strutting the halls of the Smash Mansion like a pair of peacocks, emphasizing how important they were.  Master Hand reminded himself to lecture them before the matches started up again.

            But Pikachu and Kirby were different.  They—were the most gracious of top tiers.  Master expected them to be the obnoxious ones, rather than the racer and vulpine.  But obnoxious wasn’t a word to describe either of those two.  They kept their celebrations subtle, giving hugs to the lower tiers to show that they were still their friends.  Not so much for Falcon and Fox!  Smashers they’d been chummy with in the past (e.g. Luigi) were shamelessly shunned.  The C-tiers were a little guarded in interacting with the higher tiers; in fact, Luigi was extremely protective of his fellow C-tiers.  Invisible boundaries seemed to be drawn—the tiers now dictated where they Smashers sat, who they were close to and who they trusted.  Except for Pikachu, Kirby and Yoshi, proud of their ranks but not letting them define their friendships.

            When Master Hand reluctantly resumed matches, he was alarmed upon noticing the increased tension.  Higher tiers, especially Fox and Falcon, enjoyed dumping on the lower tiers during a match, even fighting dirty at one point.  Master had to penalize the vulpine once and the racer twice before they stopped with the dirty fighting, but they still let loose with sugar-coated barbs and trash-talking.  In the interval between matches, the gym, lounge and Training Areas became populated with B and C tiers.

            And the audience wasn’t even better!  As soon as word got out that Luigi was dead last, it was open season for him.  He was mocked for being a clone, heckled, booed and hissed at, taunted because of his low ranking and even physically harassed by a few spectators!  Master Hand warned them that they would be permanently barred from spectating if their behavior persisted, but it was as if he wasn’t there.  Luckily, the handful of fans eagerly awaiting Luigi’s appearance were there to shower him with support, girding him for the battles ahead.

            Then, there was Mario.  When he wasn’t proving an A tier or a S tier wrong in battle (mostly the A tiers), he was spectating all of Luigi’s matches, just like he always had.  First row, middle seat had become Mario’s signature spot, and seeing him there automatically meant that Luigi was going to kick some butt.  As the green-clad plumber gave his opponents a run for their money and tuned out the boos and jeers from the haters, Jumpman jumped up and down in his seat, sometimes leaping to his feet, cheering like he was cheering for the New York Giants, sometimes calling out to his baby bro in Italian.  The more Mario cheered, the harder Luigi fought, and the look Master Hand often glimpsed in his eyes said more than this paragraph I’m typing right now.  All of that early afternoon, match after match, the Eternal Understudy sweated, bled, gave as good as he got—and shouted.  The finality and the heat of a given match got into Luigi’s blood and he yelled almost as much as Mario.  By the time Master called another respite, Luigi ached from giving and taking hits, and his throat was raw.

            In those quiet moments, it all came crashing back down.  Coming here with a possibility ahead of him to have that possibility brutally snatched away.  Trying to escape coming in second, but having it cling fast to him.  And now, Sakurai’s little “[bleep] you” to the man in green was the final factor in a macabre equation.  And what a macabre equation it was.

            The fists which pounded opponents now pounded walls and doors, pounded them hard enough to leave dents.  Through it all, Luigi cried softly, his solitude allowing him to finally let go those feelings.  He’d give everything to make the booing stop, to make the mocking and the hating stop, to make that stupid list go away.  Falcon—a fellow secret fighter—was now turning his nose up at him.  And now, Fox had time for the A and the S tiers, but no time for the B and C tiers—especially the worst fighter on the roster!  Pikachu, Kirby, Yoshi, Jiggs and Mario were nicer to him.  It was just that Luigi had his guard up around them, unsure of whether it was an act for some of them.  He felt a greater affinity toward DK, Link and Samus, and they arranged themselves into a tiny “clique”, similar to Fox and Falcon’s relationship, except that it welcomed everyone and not a select few.

            Finally, Luigi calmed down and used the phone in his room to summon his fellow C-tiers.

            “What is it, L?” asked Ness.

            Luigi beamed.  “Anyone up for a game of Twister?”

 

            The scooper dipped into the tub of ice cream and then emerged, filled with the cool guilty pleasure.  Then, the scoop was released into the bowl with a soft _plop_.  Scoop, release, _plop_ , repeat.

            Twelve generous-size bowls of ice cream laid neatly on a tray.  A pair of pink appendages grabbed the bottle of fudge topping and gave it a squeeze.  The yummy, gooey goodness piled onto the ice cream in squiggles.  Once the ice-creams were doused in topping, on came a dollop or two of Cool Whip, and at last, a cherry.

            Kirby’s mouth watered as he studied his hand-crafted sundaes, but he knew only one of them was his.  However delicious this looked, he had to see this mission through to the end.

            Picking up the tray, Kirby puffed out of the kitchen and into the lounge, where the Smashers sat.  A light frown graced his round face at the sight greeting him.  His friends had all segregated themselves into different tables after looking at a piece of paper.  Kirby felt heartbroken by this.  He was proud to be top tier, but he didn’t want all of his new pals sitting away from each other!  Surely, the tier list wasn’t supposed to be used as some caste system.  It was merely a guide for more competitive players, and nothing else.

            Pikachu looked up when Kirby placed the tray onto “their” table.  “Pika?” he wondered.

            “Poyo,” Kirby said with a wink.  Delicately, he lifted a sundae from the tray and floated over to where the C tiers sat.  Tiring of contorting their bodies on a mat, they were now engaged in a board game, Sorry.  Even the ironically titled game seemed to be dissing Luigi, as he was at a grave disadvantage.  He didn’t seem to mind, smiling, laughing and talking with the other four low tiers.

            Kirby got their attention with a soft “Poyo”.

            Five heads whipped around, Luigi immediately assuming a protective stance, distrustfully eyeing the sundae Kirby proffered.

            “Poyo, poyo,” said Kirby, undeterred.

            Gradually, Luigi’s posture relaxed, and he reached out to take the delicious dessert.

            Then, Kirby gestured to the table he occupied with Kirby.  “Poyo?”

            “Sure.  Of course I’ll sit with you,” said Luigi, the last of his suspicions fading away.  Why he suspected the Hero of Dreamland in the first place was beyond him.  He excused himself and walked with Kirby to the new table, holding his sundae carefully.

            Jiggs and Mario looked up from their game of War to see Luigi striding over to Kirby and Pikachu’s table.  They then put down their cards and watched as Kirby picked up his tray and puffed back over to the C tiers.

            “Poyo, poyo, poyo!” he called out to them.

            Samus, DK, Ness and Link looked at Kirby, then at the sundaes, then at one another and then back at Kirby.  Wariness flickered over their faces before Ness stood up and went to join Luigi.

            “Okay!” he chirped as he took a sundae.

            Link’s face oozed gratitude as Kirby handed him a sundae.  He situated himself to Luigi’s left.

            A lazy grin broke out of Samus’s face, and with a roll of her eyes, she rose to her feet, crossed the room to Kirby’s table, and sat beside Ness.

            DK accepted his treat with contented, hungry ape noises.

            The joy and friendship Kirby exuded was contagious.  For the first time in hours, animated converse sprung up among the fighters.  Mario and Jiggs grinned ear-to-ear as they watched the Star Warrior reunify his new friends.

            “Jiggly!” said Jiggs.

            “That was an extremely considerate thing to do, Kirby,” Mario added softly.

            Kirby held the tray out to the B tiers with a cheerful “Poyo, poyo, poy!”

            Exchanging proud looks, Jiggs and Mario put their cards away and ventured over to the seats Kirby saved for them.  Mario sat beside his brother, and Jiggs sat beside Pikachu.

            With an enthusiastic, “Yoshi!”, the green dino claimed the last sundae.

            And so, there they were, the Super Smash Brothers, joking, laughing and commiserating over ice cream.  Kirby was old enough to know how sweet treats could bring a room back together.

            Most of it, at least.  Two of the Smashers were absent from this get-together.  And those two Smashers were…

            “YES!”

            “Oh, yeah!  Woo!  Make way, people!”

            Hand in hand, Fox and Falcon made their grand entrance.  The table occupants fired them annoyed looks, but remained silent.

            “Hey, Kirby, my man!” greeted Falcon.  “You’re not really going to throw a party without us, are you?  C’mon, save some ice cream for the winners!”

            “That’s right!  It’s time to celebrate!”

            Kirby glared at them.  “Poyo, poyo!”

            “Kirby’s right—we’re all winners here!” said Link.

            “And we’re celebrating already,” Mario led the charge.  “We’re celebrating being together!”

            “I’m sure Kirby will hook you up if you ask nicely,” said Ness.

            “Pfft, if you want those sundaes, then you can have them!” eyerolled Falcon.  “I see some bad apples in this bunch, and I don’t want to hang around with them.  How about you, Foxy?”

            “Nope, and don’t call me Foxy.”

            “Wanna get some nachos?”

            “Sure.”

            After placing their order at the counter, Falcon swiveled around to face Yoshi.  “Yoshi, what are you doing over there?” he asked.  “Come hang with us and have some nachos!”

            Yoshi shook his head.  “Yoshi!”

            “Oh, whatever!” huffed Falcon, taking a tortilla chip from his order and popping it into his mouth.

            The two A tiers found a table of their own and began loudly crunching on their food.  They should’ve been mindful of Luigi’s incredulous eyes on them.  Who were they to act like they owned the place?  Oh, Luigi had his eye on them since that fateful list came up.  Bossing the Polygons around like their own personal assistants, preening for the audience during matches, and now this.  The same F-Zero racer and bounty hunter who resembled a cinnamon twist on the Twister mat beside him that morning was now too stuck up to even be at the same table as him.  The same anthropomorphic fox holding the game spinner was now looking at him down the length of his nose whenever they passed each other by.  _Dio_ , it made Luigi want to puke.

            Everyone else ignored the duo, thinking—hoping—that the hype would die away and that everything would be back to normal tomorrow.

            Oh, how very wrong they were…

 

            It still hadn’t burned off after a few more matches were fought, and the C tiers were sick of it.  Sick of it!  Samus had ditched her Varia Suit for a pair of workout capris and a sports bra and was now hogging the gym, DK was downing banana-based sweets, Ness was playing baseball with some Polygons, and Luigi was in his room, sitting at his computer.

            On the Smash blog, the tier list was a hot topic.  Of course, there were a lot of potshots taken at the low tiers and a few cracks about how useless Luigi was.  The plumber blasted air between closed lips a few times, positioned his fingers over the keyboard and began to type.

_What has happened to the Formidable Four?  What has happened to the Smash Family?  Twelve fighters, once warm and loving and eager to share with one another, now shattered into fragments like glass.  This tier list has divided us; it is slowly turning us into three hostile camps.  Two of us are now acting like they own the place—can’t you believe it?  Well, as you all know by now, I’m the ugly duckling, the runt of the litter, the weakling, so chances are, you’re not going to pay attention to what I say, but I’m going to say it anyway.  I.  Hate.  This.  Tier.  List.  That’s right, I curse with every breath in my body the nutjob who thought of putting these things into existence, I rue the day they decided that such a thing was necessary for what was supposed to be a friendly get-together.  Look at what they’ve done!  Friendships lie in tatters, betrayed without a single tear or hint of regret.  The Smash mansion seems smaller now, thanks to overinflated egos and God complexes.  Now that everyone thinks I’m nothing, I’ve lost a critical amount of respect.  But they’ll see.  They’ll all see._

_I apologize for wasting your time and valuable blog space._

            Luigi clicked “Send” and immediately felt a heavy weight lift from his heart.  It felt so incredibly good and _daring_ to have his fingers fly across his keyboard, translating all of his thoughts into a blog post, pulling no punches and speaking his mind.  They thought this list dictated the kind of fighter he was, but he’d show them.  Samus would show them.  DK, Ness and Link would show them.  He wasn’t about to let himself and his fellow C tiers fall victims to stigmatism, despair and self-loathing.  Under his watch, the Fierce Five was going to show Nintendo what C tiers could do!

            This was turning into a freaking good day.


	4. At the Margins

**Margin (n): 1: the part of a page outside the main body of printed or written matter; 2: edge**

**Marginal (adj.): 4: excluded from or existing outside the mainstream of society or a group**

**Marginalize (vb.): to relegate to an unimportant position within a society or group**

**\--The Merriam-Webster Dictionary, 6 th ed. (2004)**

_Dear Diary,_

_Ridley just found out about the tiers.  Now, my phone is off the hook with prank calls from him.  The last thing I need is my sworn enemy mocking me for being 8 th place.  Compounded with the prejudice I’ve faced for being a woman and a bounty hunter, along with the snickering audience and the “better-than-you” treatment shown to me by some of the higher tiers (you know who you are).  Seeing them so full of it makes me want to fire a fully-loaded Charge Shot into their midst, to obliterate them like the deadly Space Pirates I’ve battled in the past.  But luckily, I’m not riding this roller coaster alone.  I’ve found confiding buddies in DK, Ness, Link and Luigi.  Speaking of Luigi, he’s become our unofficial “voice”, our spine, our superstructure keeping us from falling apart.  So, anyone who wants to _[bleep] _with us has to go through him._

_I’m hitting the Training Area now; this energy and aggression is driving me mad!_

_Samus A._

_Dear Diary,_

_THANK YOU LUIGI, YOU ARE THE BEST!  I SHOWER YOU WITH COCONUT CREAM PIES!_

_DK_

_Dear Diary,_

_Captain Falcon and Fox used to enjoy playing baseball with me.  Not anymore.  They say that it’s “for little babies”, just like playing Twister “is for casuals”.  I’ve never heard such disrespectful comments in my life!  Why, oh why, does this tier list corrupt them so?_

_I’m sitting in my room, playing with my yo-yo, trying not to cry, thinking about the way we were.  Smash used to be one, big, happy family—now, we’re arranged like a totem pole.  The likes of Fox and Falcon behave like socialites who are oh-so-special and oh-so-important above the rest of us.  And us C tiers?  We’re treated like low-class peasants, like expendables, like underlings of the lowest order, like useless, easily replaced and erased individuals.  We’re kindergarteners and first graders, and they’re the big sixth graders who love tormenting us—or so they think._

_Thank God for Luigi.  His words ring in my head as I write these words.  He may be last, but he’s no underling!  And he’s right—we are going to show everyone what C tiers are made of and set this tournament on fire!  The things I’m going to do to those snobbish pushovers—_

_I’ll get back to you later.  Luigi’s coming to visit!_

_Ness_

_Dear Diary,_

_You know that feeling when you accidentally disturb a flock of Cuccos, and they won’t stop assailing you?  Well, that’s how things are like right now for me._

_Eleventh—how could they have the nerve?  Eleventh!  I am the Hero of Time.  I am the bearer of the Triforce of Courage.  I serve and protect Hyrule with my life.  What have I done?  What have I done to be so grossly disregarded?  Why do these people keep harassing me like a flock of Cuccos?  I’m being pecked at from all directions.  From one direction comes two fighters in particular who think they’re VIPs now (I won’t name names, but they know who they are) and seek to remind us of our place, so to speak.  From another are the gamers, the tournament regulars who drone on and on about how lousy I am.  And then, I’ve got the audience breathing down my neck, waiting to see me fail, fall, die trying.  Just think of the libel and slander they’re sending to Hyrule, to my people!  In spite of everything I’ve done, in spite of all of my accomplishments, they thumb their noses at my fighting abilities.  Just wait until I’ve sharpened my Master Sword, polished my Boomerang and restock my Bombs.  I’ll have them eating their words in no time!_

_I’ll go play my ocarina now._

_Link_

_P.S. Luigi told me that he’s swinging by later.  I’m going to hold him to that._

_Dear Diary,_

_I’ve cried my last tears.  I’ve pulled myself out of the rut of what-if and what-could’ve-been.  I’ve stopped stewing over that piece of paper; I’ve decided that it’s not going to rule my life.  Instead, I’ve declared all-out total war on it.  It’s placed a value stamp on me, but I’m going to fight it.  I’m going to fight it with my bare hands.  I’m going to fight it with words.  I’m going to fight it with thoughts and ideas and energy and fire.   I’m going to roll up my sleeves and get in the mud, because if they want to drag me through filth, I’ll take them right along with me.  I feel a wind beginning to blow inside of me, a full-force gale.  Let me tell you, this gale within me is going to blow down these negative perceptions of me with the relentlessness of a hurricane.  I_ am _a hurricane.  A hurricane steadily increasing in deadly power.  Now I can hardly sit still.  I cannot wait for the next match.  I cannot wait for my next opponent.  I hope it’s Falcon or Fox, two new friends of mine who screwed me over on a dime.  They want to believe they’re the cream of the crop, but I’ll knock them down a few pegs, just you wait.  I am a category 5 superstorm of a hurricane, and my target is locked on those two._

_They’d better say their prayers._

_Luigi_

_Dear Diary,_

_Oh, God, I feel so happy right now!  So free!  I haven’t felt so lightweight since I defeated Ridley for the first time and reached closure over losing my parents.  What happened?  Well, let me tell you.  Luigi came into my room earlier, armed with a home-cooked meal.  I knew he was planning something, because it was nothing but comfort food.  I’m talking about a four-course meal._ Antipasti _, the pasta dish, the second dish and finally the dessert.  Luigi did an excellent job of cheering me up.  I’m now immune to Ridley’s verbal jabs.  And full._

_God bless you, Luigi!_

_Samus A._

_Dear Diary,_

_Luigi’s the total package!  Nuff said!_

_DK_

_Dear Diary,_

_Luigi broke out Chutes and Ladders for us to play.  Chutes and Ladders!  I_ love _that game!  After playing a few rounds of that, I was less angry.  I felt ready to put my cards on the table, and I did just that.  I told him about the temptations in my head, the feeling of being a helpless little kid, the connotations dropped onto my shoulders.  He said that he’s struggled with similar thoughts and temptations, but now he’s wrangled them.  I didn’t even have to ask him for advice—he dispensed it for free.  He’s planning a sleepover tonight, and Samus, DK and Link already decided to come.  I’ll come, too._

_Once I laid everything bare, the two of us went outside and played basketball.  Truly, I’ve never asked for a better buddy than Luigi._

_Ness_

_Dear Diary,_

_Sorry I was in such a funk earlier.  But never again, never again!  Luigi and I understand each other.  We’re the Green Team, for crying out loud—the freaking Green Team!  While I was playing my ocarina, Luigi walked in and listened.  After I was done playing tunes, we chatted each other up for a while.  I don’t know why, but the fact that he wears green, like me, makes him a lighthouse, guiding the small boat of my mind back home.  I’m still Hyrule’s protector; still the bearer of the Triforce of Courage.  I still ride proudly astride Epona, demonstrate my swordsmanship with my Master Sword, and I’m still masterful at projectile warfare.  Navi remains to give me guidance.  I’ve received fan letters from gamers as well as the people of Hyrule.  But by far, the one to still the storm within my heart is Luigi, my partner in green.  We’re unbreakable, Luigi and I.  And we never have and never will run from a fight._

_I thank you, Luigi, with all of my heart._

_Link_

_Dear Diary,_

_My four newest compadres are here with me now—Samus, DK, Ness and Link.  We have come together as one force, as one voice, five fires merging into a wild inferno.  From now on, none of us will travel alone, and none of us will jump ship.  Whatever happens, we’ll brave it together.  We are our last, our best, our only line of defense.  We are the light returning to the darkness.  We are the Fierce Five._

_Luigi_

**Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men?**

**It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!**

**When the beating of your heart matches the beating of the drums,**

**There’s a new hope about to start when tomorrow comes!**

**\--“Song of Angry Men”, _Les Miserables_**


	5. Coiled Cobra

**Sir Meta Knight** replied to your comment: _You are correct, Luigi, and I admire your courage to come forward and speak your mind.  It brings a great degree of pride to be first, but that doesn’t make someone better than anyone else.  It does not make the friendships you’ve established more or less valuable.  You are still the same people who came together in April.  I also understand your frustration and ambivalence toward the tier list.  One should not judge another based on what someone or something else tells them, but the document in question has made some of your fellow Smashers do just that.  I have seen the tier list, and though I am proud that my pupil is among those at the top, I hope he does not let it get to him._

 **Isai** liked your comment.

            **Isai** replied to your comment: _You tell them, bud!  They have no right to dump on you just because of a piece of paper!  I’ve attended most of your matches, and let me tell you, you’ve rocked the house.  You are by far my favorite Smash fighter, and I look forward to maining you and seeing more of you in action.  God bless, and take care, L._

            Luigi smiled at the hits and positive comments his post had received.  Finally, he was making some waves!  He had already followed Meta’s blog and decided to wait a while before following Isai’s.  Maybe he’d look harder at the audience before a match began, in order to identify his supporters.

            However, he wondered why the bearer of Galaxia didn’t offer his name up for consideration in this tournament.  He was a fearsome knight, the only viable match for Kirby in battle.  Maybe he’d ask him later.

            “L?  Five minutes!” called a Polygon who’d poked its head into Luigi’s room.

            “Okay, thanks,” said Luigi, signing off the computer.  He put on some deodorant and followed the Polygon to the designated stage.

            The front row was already occupied, erupting in a massive cheer when Luigi arrived.  The man in green lit up like a glowstick the minute he saw his big bro, and he waved enthusiastically to him.  To Mario’s left and right were Link and Ness, respectively.  Luigi also saw Samus, DK, Kirby, Pikachu and Jiggs, smiling and blowing him kisses.  Rounding out the front row population were a few old New York buddies, Stanley, Pauline—and Meta Knight and Isai!  Isai was in full cosplayer gear, holding up a sign which proclaimed, LUIGI #1!  The green-clad plumber blushed, the sudden rush of affection bringing tears to his eyes.  Quickly, he brushed them away and psyched himself up.  _I can do this.  I can do this.  I can do this!_

            And with the encouraging crowd pepping him up, he did.

            As he was being rewarded the victor’s spoils, Luigi broke into a silly shuffle dance, finishing with a wave to his supportive audience.

 

            Shortly after Luigi’s match, Samus found herself back in the gym, astride the stationary bicycle, pedaling for all she was worth.  Her headphones were plugged into her portable CD player, snugly tucked into the pocket of her gym shorts.  Eyes closed, breath coming out in noisy bursts, she let everything else fall away.  Not just the list but also Falcon’s smarminess.  He was a handsome guy, and she couldn’t get him out of her mind, but if he didn’t come to his senses soon, then they would be over before they really began!

            Outside, Master Hand chatted with the Polygon in charge of the facility.

            “She’s been in there for most of her free time,” said the Polygon.  “If she’s not on some cardio machine, then she’s swinging at the punching bag.”

            “I suppose she’s taking it well,” said Master.

            “Better than most,” shrugged the Polygon.

            Quietly, the glove entered the gym and observed Samus in her imagined bike race, pretending she was biking across her native climate.  Without her armor, the bounty hunter looked a bit—petite.  Master was aware of the Polygon casting lingering gazes at her muscular, 5’8” frame, her sloping, tight tummy, strands of her blond hair working their way free of her ponytail and dangling before her face, fanning in and out as she breathed, the sweat giving sparkly hues to her skin.  She smiled, eyes still closed, as she sunk further and further into her workout.

            “Go take your break,” Master ordered the Polygon.  “I’ll watch the facility in the meantime.”

            The Polygon nodded, sneaked one last look at Samus, and then left.  That was when Master noticed that the Polygon had Falcon’s build.

            Master slid into the chair the Polygon had vacated, watching the gym, watching for entries and exits and watching Samus lunging into her cardio.  The sight of her sweat-bathed form and the sound of her aggressive, open-mouthed exhales reminded the glove why he’d come here.  Faithfully, he waited forty-five minutes before Samus slowed her legs, powered off the machine and dismounted, taking a big swig of ICE Sparkling water and draping a gym towel over her shoulders.

            “You’ve been here this whole time?” she asked without even looking at Master.

            “Yes.  The Polygon’s on a break.”

            “Hmm.  Sure.”

            “So, how are you, Sam?”

            “Peachy.  Why?”

            “I couldn’t help but notice how you’ve hogged the gym since—you know.”

            “And your point?”

            “You’ve seemed a little upset.”

            “I was, believe me,” sighed Samus.  “Then, I had Ridley salting the wound.  But I feel better now.”

            “I’m happy for that,” said Master, “Now, I get that 8th place isn’t all that great, but you’re still the Intergalactic Space Warrior.  You’re the woman who took on Mother Brain and won.  Don’t think that because of this list, you’re no longer a good bounty hunter.  I had this talk with DK, Ness and Link, too.”

            “Well, you don’t need to have the talk with L,” crowed Samus.  “He’s already over it.  He’s the reason why I feel better.”

            “Yeah, I’m noticing you five interacting more,” said Master.  “That’s well.  But the others are still your friends.”

            “Tell that to Fox and Mr. Big Stuff Falcon,” snorted Samus.

            “I’ll take them aside on this matter soon,” promised Master.

            “Okay,” said Samus.  “Thanks for stopping by.”

            Master watched as she strode out of the gym.

 

            Happy, upbeat music played inside the ice-cream parlor as Pikachu and Kirby padded in.  Not sauntered, but entered.  Pikachu’s paw was entwined with Kirby’s stump as they approached the counter.

            “What can I get you?” asked the friendly Polygon manning the cash register.

            The duo ordered a banana split.  Together, they carried it to a seat by the window, where they proceeded to scoop up small spoonfuls and level them into each other’s mouths.

            It was more than a banana split.  It was a simple self-reward over being ranked so high, a chance for them to celebrate their achievement together without drawing any attention.  For Kirby and Pikachu, it was like a first date.  They’d fallen in love from the moment the pink fluffball had assuaged Pikachu’s separation anxiety and home sickness.  Flirtily feeding each other a banana split, the duo felt closer than ever.  All that was missing was a singer serenading them with a love ballad.

            Kirby’s face (body?) was smeared with whipped cream and fudge, while Pikachu had strawberry ice-cream plastered all over his lips.  The S tiers giggled at the mess they were making and then proceeded to lick away.  Once they were licked clean, they proceeded to get messy and sticky again as the Polygon amusedly looked on.

            Ah, young love.

            “Hello, you two.”

            Pikachu and Kirby turned at the sound of Master’s voice.  He floated at the parlor’s entrance, smiling wryly.

            “I must say, you make an adorable couple,” Master went on.

            “Pika”-ing and “poyo”-ing nearly drowned him out.

            “Just friends, you say?  Well, judging by the fun you’re having with that ice cream, your friendship could turn into—something more.”

            “Poyo, poyo, poyo, poy, poyoyo, po-poyo, poyo,” admitted Kirby.

            “Oh, so you’re celebrating about the tier list?” asked Master.

            “Poyo,” nodded Kirby.

            “It’s good to be happy, and I admit, it’s something to celebrate.  Just—don’t get too carried away, all right?  You can’t fight if you’re stuffed to the gills.”

            “Pika, pika, pika-pi,” Pikachu piped up.

            “Oh, definitely.  I’m certain that Ash would be extremely proud to hear this,” said Master, referring to the electric mouse’s young trainer.  Turning to Kirby, he added, “The citizens of Dreamland, especially Sir Meta Knight, would be extremely proud of their little hero.”

            “Pika,” said Pikachu.

            “Your fellow Pokémon would also be happy for you,” Master said to him, “and Mist would definitely be jumping for joy.  Is she still with Ash?”

            Pikachu nodded.

            “It’s clear that those in your home world will have greater reason to regale you,” said Master, “but remember, your placement on the tier list does not mean special privileges.  You still have to follow the rules.”

            “Pika.”

            “Poyo.”

            “Besides, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re better than all the rest.  You just have better match-ups on the battlefield.”

            “Poyo, poyo, poyo, poyo, po, poy, po-poyo, poyoyo,” Kirby said softly.

            “Good going, Kirby.  Not letting your rankings sour your friendships is a wise move,” said Master, “but I must warn you, some Smashers will.”

            “Pika?” queried Pikachu.

            “Because—that’s just the way they are.”

            Kirby bit his lip.  “Poyo, poyo.”

            “Wait—what about Luigi?”

            “Poyo, poyo, poyo, poyo, po-poyo,” Kirby sighed sadly.

            “It’s natural to be upset over something.  It leaves—a bitter taste in the mouth.  But Luigi’s a strong man.  He’s seeing the other C tiers through and making his voice heard on our blog.  Actually, he’s quite good on the battlefield with his powerful attacks.  It’s his floatiness, high short hop and awkwardness which hinders him.  All about the physics.”

            “Pika, pika, pika.”

            “Poyo!” chirped Kirby.

            Master smiled.  “Good thinking!  Luigi can use his poor traction to his advantage.  Maybe if we do another tournament, I’ll teach the fighters a thing I like to call ‘wavedashing’.  Like I said, being last on the tier list doesn’t necessarily make him bad.”

            Kirby and Pikachu animatedly discussed the matter among themselves over their banana split.

            “Perhaps you’d like to save some of that for him?” offered Master.  “To cheer him up?”

            “YES!”

            The moment was broken as Falcon and Fox pompously sauntered into the parlor.

            “Douglas, you scared me!” cried Master.  “What brings you two here?”

            “Guess what, MH—we’re with the champions!” announced Falcon, “and we wanna celebrate with a nice sundae on the house!”

            “Sorry, you two, but you’ll have to pay up like everyone else.”

            Fox and Falcon protested loudly.

            “Can we at least get a discount?” Falcon ventured to ask.

            Kirby broke in with a firm “Poyo!”

            “Heavy hangs the head that last night wore the crown,” admonished the glove with a wag of his finger.

            “Whatever!” snapped Falcon.  “Can we get something sweet, please?”

            “Only if you can pay for it.”

            The Polygon managed to convince Falcon and Fox to pay the full cost for a premium sundae each.  Kirby and Pikachu cast them disapproving looks as they took their seats and dug into their treats with over-the-top bragging.

            “I’d better go see about the others,” Master said to them.  “Let me know if you need anything.  Fox, Falcon—try to behave.”

            The duo grunted.

            Master was about to make his exit when he heard this:

            “Hey, Fox, maybe later we can go get that last-place loser; see how low he is,” proposed Douglas.

            “Ah.  I’m in.”

            Kirby and Pikachu exchanged alarmed glances.  They had to warn Luigi!

            “I didn’t hear that,” murmured Master Hand, “and I strongly suggest that I don’t hear it again.”

            He floated back to his office, leaving the four to their own affairs.  After planning out the day’s final wave of matches, he perused the security monitors for a while, eventually drifting off to sleep—

 

            “Headed somewhere?”

            The Polygon in the Training Area swiveled round.  “I’m just taking a bathroom break.”

            Luigi nodded.  “I’ll be waiting when you get back.”

            As the form went off to attend to its business, Luigi stood, too wired to sit.  It had happened again.  He’d received several sardonic responses to his post, and some bloggers had exercised no restraint in lambasting him.  Passing the ice-cream parlor, he’d heard Douglas and Fox, bragging up a storm.  What was with those two?  Why couldn’t they be like Pikachu and Kirby, still friendly and welcoming and open?  No worries, though—he’d bring their distorted worldview crashing down on them!

            Hardly two minutes later had the Polygon reemerged.  “I’m back.”

            Luigi said nothing as he walked up to the Polygon.  As he drew closer, he realized that this Polygon looked similar to a certain uppity racer.  Taking his time, Luigi looked his training partner up and down, thoroughly inspecting the Polygon as a child would inspect a yummy dessert before eating it.  He saw fear registering on the Polygon’s face and responded by closing off the remaining space between them.  Excitement brewed within him as he touched his bulbous nose to the Polygon’s.  His mouth curved upwards into a smile the Polygon hoped never to see again.  Face darkening, Luigi circled the Polygon like a band of bandits circling a wagon, with the Polygon trying to follow the plumber’s stare.  Blue eyes glided over the etchings of the Polygon’s abs, imagining that they were Falcon’s abs, rippling beneath that racer costume.  He started breathing erratically, licking his lips as he allowed himself to picture his fists meeting that ripped torso, furious reds, ugly greenish-browns and purples blooming all over his marvelous, handsome physique.  His stomach puffing in and out as he gasped for breath—oh, Luigi would make sure that it hurt to breathe.  Then, he fantasized blood slowly drooling from wounds on Falcon’s ab-tastic frame and his charming, square face.  Looking into the smarmy Captain’s masked eyes and seeing pain and fear—and now he could see him crumpled on the floor, remorseful and ashamed over trashing him so, _quivering_ —and being the nice person he was, Luigi would be merciful.  But the Captain would learn—as would Fox.

            The Polygon barely saw the fist coming.

             Luigi yelled, a passionate sound, as he sent another fist flying into the Polygon.  He rained blow after blow on his training partner.  Said training partner was caught off guard, not expecting such an offensive from the man in green.  Its body was sturdy, and it tried to return some of the attacks dealt to it.  But Luigi had the jump on him, setting ravenously on the stomach area until it hurt to stand straight and then whaling away at the face, continuing to yell and yell and yell, his movements becoming more animated, and the more he trained, the more wired he grew.

            The Polygon had no room to advance.  He could only scuttle backward, Luigi’s assault eventually forcing the being into a corner of the room.  Now, all he could do was hold his ground as the plumber continued to attack from everywhere, hollering and sweating and pretending it was “Show Me Your Moves” Falcon or some other higher tier sneering down at him.  Good thing Luigi had a good imagination—it was hard to see injuries on the Polygon’s purple body.  The training session went on for what seemed like hours but was actually three-and-a-half.

            “Excuse me, sir.  Would you like me to relieve you?”

            The action halted.  Mario had entered the Training Area, scrutinizing the scene before him.

            “Thank Heaven you’ve come,” sighed the Polygon.  “He’s all yours!”  And with that, it limped away.

            Mario waited as Luigi calmed himself down.  “Nice to see you, Bro.”

            “Nice to see you, too.”

            Then, Mario strode up to his baby bro because he looked like he needed him, and without a word, he hugged him.

            “I bet I can withstand your attacks more than that Polygon,” said Mario.

            “I bet I can topple you right here, right now,” Luigi shot back.  “Best of seven?”

            “You’re on.”

            A pulse-racing brotherly battle ensued in the Training Area, Luigi reminding Mario about his lie by omission earlier, and Mario seeing the key similarities to and differences from his brother.  Nobody else dared enter that Training Area as the Mario Bros relentlessly comboed and bodied each other, sweating out everything that had happened so far.  Luigi’s excitement and anticipation sprouted as the hours sparring with Mario passed.  He was a cobra, coiled and hissing, ready to strike and sink its teeth into an unsuspecting intruder.  He was a Bob-omb, fuse lit, seconds from blowing.  Many metaphors could be used to compare to him, all of them volatile.  This man in green hoped that everyone was watching—and that the makers of that stupid list were praying!

 **After all you put me through,**  
You think I'd despise you,  
But in the end I wanna thank you,  
'Cause you've made me that much stronger.  
  
Well I, I thought I knew you, thinkin' that you were true  
Guess I, I couldn't trust called your bluff time is up  
'Cause I've had enough!  
You were there by my side, always down for the ride  
But your joy ride just came down in flames 'cause your greed sold me out in shame!  
  
After all of the stealing and cheating you probably think that I hold resentment for you  
But uh uh, oh no, you're wrong  
'Cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do, I wouldn't know  
Just how capable I am to pull through!  
So I wanna say thank you  
'Cause it  
  
_[Chorus:]_  
Makes me that much stronger  
Makes me work a little bit harder  
It makes me that much wiser  
So thanks for making me a fighter!  
Made me learn a little bit faster  
Made my skin a little bit thicker  
Makes me that much smarter  
So thanks for making me a fighter!  
  
Never saw it coming, all of your backstabbing  
Just so you could cash in on a good thing before I'd realize your game  
I heard you're going round playing the victim now  
But don't even begin feeling I'm the one to blame!  
'Cause you dug your own grave  
After all of the fights and the lies 'cause you're wanting to haunt me  
But that won't work anymore, no more,  
It's over  
'Cause if it wasn't for all of your torture  
I wouldn't know how to be this way now and never back down!  
So I wanna say thank you  
'Cause it  
  
_[Chorus]_  
  
How could this man I thought I knew  
Turn out to be unjust so cruel?  
Could only see the good in you  
Pretended not to see the truth  
You tried to hide your lies, disguise yourself  
Through living in denial  
But in the end you'll see  
YOU-WON'T-STOP-ME!  
  
I am a fighter and I  
I ain't gonna stop!  
There is no turning back  
I've had enough!  
  
_[Chorus]_  
  
You thought I would forget  
But I remembered  
'Cause I remembered  
I remembered  
You thought I would forget  
I remembered  
'Cause I remembered  
I remembered  
  
_[Chorus]_

**\--Christina Aguilera, “Fighter”**


	6. Money Power Glory

**Ego ( _n_ ): 1: the self as distinguished from others**

**Egoism ( _n_ ): 2: excessive concern for oneself with or without exaggerated feelings of self-importance**

**Egotism ( _n_ ): the practice of talking about oneself too much; an exaggerated sense of self-importance**

**\--from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, 6 th ed. (2004)**

            Luigi was a good clubber and an expert party guy.  He was responsible, often a designated driver, or designated a driver when the lure of liquor was too strong for him.  He watched his drinks to make sure he didn’t become totally smashed, but if he did, he’d always make sure he wouldn’t find himself passed out in an unknown, deserted alley.  Even if his days were bad, he’d never rely primarily on alcohol to make them better.  He’d have pasta, pizza or favorite activities to do that.

            A Poppin’ Purple Tanqueray sat in front of him in a funny-shaped glass.  The first time he had a Poppin’ Purple Tanqueray was in this very lounge, to ease the first-day jitters.  One sip, and he fell in love.  Equal parts sweet and tangy, lemony and melon-y, with the right amount of kick.  The Polygon bartender had caught on quickly, so whenever Luigi walked into the lounge, it made sure a glass of Poppin’ Purple Tanqueray was waiting for him.  Luigi tipped that Polygon generously.

            Luigi took another sip of Poppin’ Purple Tanqueray and smiled.  Differences seemed to have been abandoned as the Smashers sought some R&R together.  All except (surprise!) Fox and Falcon, who were holed up in the latter’s room, blasting rock and rap tunes at max volume and getting plugged to the gills.  Luigi had happened upon their room, wishing to speak to them, but he was so disgusted with what he heard that he abandoned the venture.  So, he took refuge in his favorite lounge, with his new favorite drink, savoring the friendly atmosphere.

            Upper tiers and lower tiers mixed and mingled.  Luigi saw Yoshi join Kirby and Pikachu for a few rounds of darts.  Mario, DK and a gaggle of Polygons played charades.  Ness was playing some card game with Samus.  Jiggs swayed to the music while Link busted a move.  The dance floor was already occupied with various Polygons.

            One by one, each Smasher in the lounge abandoned their activities, the music calling to them like the Pied Piper luring all of the children away.  One by one, they joined the Polygons on the dance floor.  Luigi’s eyes were glued to the dancing bodies, and he felt the music and the drink inside of him.  He was wound so tight and needed release.  And so he picked up his drink and made his way to the floor.

            And then he was in the middle of the crowd, dancing.  80s electronic disco, 80s and 90s dance, hip-hop and pop.  Techno, synth, party music.  Luigi worked up a sweat to these sweet beats.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t as careful with his drink as he would’ve liked, and it sloshed over the glass and all over him, his tongue licking it off.  The others began to take notice of his limber, shimmying body and sending their own energy to him.  Luigi saw that he had their attention and really started busting loose, breaking down his body as the songs melted into each other.  The Polygons tried to copy his steamy little shimmy and did sloppy jobs of doing so.  Back in his home world, Luigi was a very good dancer, one thing he could best Mario at.  The Toads would be screaming over him, just like the Smashers were screaming over him, and fawning and further stimulating him with their cries.  Oh, _how_ he danced!  His body let out the inhibitions and frustrations he’d carried with him all day.  Smash had become a competitive world, but here, things were more relaxed.  He put his lips to his glass and sipped down some more of that precious nectar.  And then he stopped thinking about everything and danced some more.

 **This is the rhythm of the night**  
The night, oh yeah  
The rhythm of the night  
This is the rhythm of my life  
My life, oh yeah  
The rhythm of my life

 ****  
You could put some joy upon my face  
Oh, sunshine in an empty place  
Take me to turn to, and babe I'll make you stay

 **Oh, I can ease you of your pain**  
Feel you give me love again  
Round and round we go, each time I hear you say

 **This is the rhythm of the night**  
The night, oh yeah  
The rhythm of the night  
This is the rhythm of my life  
My life, oh yeah  
The rhythm of my life

 **Won't you teach me how to love and learn**  
There'll be nothing left for me to yearn  
Think of me and burn, and let me hold your hand

 **I don't wanna face the world in tears**  
Please think again, I'm on my knees  
Sing that song to me, no reason to repent  
I know you wanna say it

            When he could no longer ignore his parched throat, he danced his way back to his seat, where the bartender saw him, all sweaty and winded, and immediately mixed a refill of his drink.  Luigi thanked him and settled down to catch his breath, beginning to suck down his beverage.  The beginnings of tipsiness were there, the tingle, the peculiar wildness, and Luigi welcomed it.  Back he skipped to the dance floor, resuming his shimmying dance and then beginning to undulate and wind his hips.  Everyone screamed in admiration.  He snaked his free hand through his hair and down himself, allowing himself more freedom than he would back home.  The slow, suggestive grind.  Rocking, bumping and swaying through a riff.  He put his hands on the waist of the Polygon dancing against him and sliding them up its body.  Another Polygon came up from behind and sandwiched him between the two, three bodies in motion.  Gently, Luigi would tip some of his beverage into the mouths of his dance partners, and they’d offer him sips of their margaritas.  Luigi was really loosening up now, and he was having a lot of fun.

            Then, there was a No Doubt song with a beat which Luigi claimed as his, so the other dancers stepped back and let him have the floor.  Luigi really loved No Doubt and their music:

 **Hey baby, hey baby, hey**  
Girls say, boys say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Hey baby, baby

 **I'm the kinda girl that hangs with the guys**  
Like a fly on the wall with my secret eyes  
Takin' it in, try to be feminine  
With my makeup bag watchin' all the sin

 **Misfit, I sit**  
Lit up, wicked  
Everybody else surrounded by the girls  
With the tank tops and the flirty ways

 **I'm just sippin' on chamomile**  
Watching boys and girls and their sex appeal  
With a stranger in my face who says he knows my mom  
And went to my high school

 **All the boys say**  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Girls say, girls say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Hey baby, baby

 **Hey baby, hey baby, hey**  
Boys say, boys say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
All the boys get the girls in the back

 **I'm the one they feed upon**  
Give a bit, a star is born  
And if you're hot enough, you'll get the pass  
So you can tell your friends how you made it back

 **No matter what they say I'm still the same**  
Somehow everybody knows my name  
And all the girls wanna get with the boys  
And the boys really like it

 **All the boys say**  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Girls say, girls say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Hey baby, baby

 **Hey baby, hey baby, hey**  
Boys say, boys say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
All the boys get the girls in the back

**Check it out, it's Bounty Killer and No Doubt**

**Jump on the stage makes me goin' crazy**  
Afterwards myself and one of them, gorgeous ladies  
There is no need to be actin' shady  
C'mon baby, hey, hey baby

 **Jump on the stage makes me goin' crazy**  
Afterwards myself and one of them, gorgeous ladies  
There is no need to be actin' shady  
C'mon baby, hey, hey baby

 **Way you rock your hips you know that it amaze me**  
Got me off the hook and nothing else don't phase me  
Can you be my one and only sunshine, lady  
If no, no maybe, hey baby

 **I'm just sippin' on chamomile**  
Watching boys and girls and their sex appeal  
With a stranger in my face who says he knows my mom  
And went to my high school  
(That's right)

 **All the boys say**  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Girls say, girls say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
Hey, baby, baby

 **Hey baby, hey baby, hey**  
Boys say, boys say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
(Can you be my one and only sunshine, lady)

 **Hey baby, hey baby, hey**  
Girls say, girls say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
(Way you rock your hips you know that it amaze me)

 **Hey baby, hey baby, hey**  
Boys say, boys say  
Hey baby, hey baby, hey  
All the boys get the girls in the back

            After that came a few more songs Luigi didn’t quite catch the names to except for the one about pumping up the jam.  And he just let everything that happened today just trickle out and away, because through dance, he could really express himself.  He lit up that floor until his glass was empty, and he didn’t even notice that until the songs slowed down a bit.  By then, Luigi was in need of recharging.

            “You feeling alright, man?” asked the Polygon, armed with another refill.

            “Yeah, I’m fine.  Thanks,” smiled Luigi, flipping the bartender some G.  He settled back and let his pulse return to normal as he nursed his drink.

            “You can always count on me, okay?” said the Polygon.

            “Okay.”

            “Woo!  That green moustache was burning the floor!” another Polygon cried.

            “He has a name, you know,” Mario told him, rolling his eyes.

            The Polygon just ignored him, gushing about Luigi’s fancy footwork.

            _Things are looking up right now_ , Luigi thought to himself.  _We’ll fight our last matches, eat dinner and go to bed.  Tomorrow, we’ll go back to our normal routine_.

            The man in green took another swallow.  He’d end this day in peace.

            But just as he made that resolution, the peace was shattered.

            “Hey!  Hey, hey!” boomed a familiar voice.

            So drunk that they had to support each other, Falcon and Fox had crashed the party.  The dancing stopped.  The music stopped.  Everything stopped.

              
            “Oh, my God.  I don’t believe it,” murmured a Polygon.

            “Can I help you guys?” asked Mario, taking charge of the situation.

            “Where is he?” slurred Douglas.  “The last-place loser?  You’re the bottom of the food chain, buddy!”

            Luigi sat rigidly, barely breathing.

            “Somebody here had better explain the pecking order to him, because it’s not fun-and-games anymore!” hiccupped Fox.

            _Yeah, thanks to you_ , thought Luigi.

            “Are you guys drunk?” asked Mario.

            “What?  We’re not allowed to indulge in guilty pleasures?” huffed Fox.

            “I never said that!” Mario retorted.

            “Guys!  The matches aren’t over yet!” Jiggs admonished.  “You can’t fight like this!  Puff!”

            “Shall I get the bouncers?” asked the bartender.

            “No, no,” said Mario.  “Everything’s under control.”

            “The two of you had better have a good explanation to Master Hand for this,” said Samus.  “Douglas, before you even start, drinking and flirting do not mix.”

            Luigi stared hard at the reflections of Fox and Falcon in his glass as a finger leisurely circled the rim.

            “C’mon, you n—b!  You can’t hide from us!” challenged Falcon.  “Let’s go!  Let’s see how low you are!”

            In a smoothly executed motion, Luigi drained the last of his glass.  Setting it down, he turned to face to two interlopers.  They saw that his eyes were still clear, and he wasn’t swaying or wavering, either.  But the way he was looking at them, though—it was a look which would send even the almighty Koopa running for the hills.

            Luigi slid off his chair and onto his feet to soft applause from the Polygons, Samus, Link, DK and Ness.  Pikachu and Kirby watched with greedy eyes.  Jiggs’s and Yoshi’s eyes darted from the good Captain to the plumber.  And Mario warily gazed upon the tense scene.

            “Luigi…” he breathed.

            Those bright eyes flicked to him, practically begging Mario to try and stop him.  Steadily, he moved toward the drunk A tiers, casually rolling up one sleeve and then the other.  People tended to call him a string bean, but his limbs had some meat to them; all they had to do was look closely enough, and they’d see.  Muscles, tendons and nerves flexed, contracted and stretched as Luigi made tight and hard fists and raised them up to his face, his singular, acidic stare boring into Falcon and Fox.

            As the sounds of an Irish folk song began to fill the air, Falcon yelled out, “Yes!  Time to settle this like men—if you’re even capable of doing _that_!”

            Fox talked smack, but he apparently was in no mood for a fight.  He left that task to Captain Falcon.

            Straight at Luigi the muscular racer lunged, and was met halfway with well calculated and coordinated attacks.  The man in green darted right in and lit into the good Captain’s ripped upper body.  Falcon had charged in blindly and was now paying for it, the alcohol making his movements sluggish and clumsy.  Luigi, on the other hand, was still lightning on his feet and had his opponent figured out like a Rubik’s Cube.  He could easily dodge and parry wild, badly aimed blows.  Who could’ve known that he’d consumed almost as much spirits as Douglas?  It was hard to tell as Luigi cleverly threw Falcon off-balance and then used him as a punching bag, bludgeoning away at the face once he was certain the racer would be bent double for a while.  His body pivoted and sent hooks smashing into Falcon’s ears, disorienting him further.  Then, he’d pelt that handsome, chiseled face with his fireballs and blast away some more at the abdominal region—perhaps a bit lower—when he noticed Douglas trying to straighten back up.

            They circled one another, and Luigi waited for Falcon to rush again, which he did.  And again, Luigi caught him, got right in his face and unleashed a controlled firestorm on that masculine frame, in every sense of the word.  Punching, kicking and even throwing.  Luigi heard shouts, starting with the C tier group and spreading like a pandemic.  It was a virus inside him, a virus which quickly took hold, and he absorbed the shouts and listened to the music and his breathing as he sidestepped haphazard swings and counterattacked quickly, and then threw some long-range attacks before causing Falcon to reel once more.

            The persistent tempo of the music.  The shouts taking on cadence.  Falcon’s words stuck in his head.  Fox’s voice, mocking him despite the fact that Mario had ambushed him and now gripped his waist in a bear hug.  The slur in Falcon’s voice as he continued to rile him up.  The tier list, still hanging nonchalantly on that bulletin board.  And the spectators, gamers, tier list makers and suits, making a decision about him before he could have a real chance to show them what he could do.

            Suddenly, Falcon rebounded with unrelenting, glancing blows to Luigi’s face.  He dealt some devastating knee strikes and plenty of good ones under the chin.  Maybe the alcohol was starting to wear off, or the good Captain was starting to realize who he was dealing with.  But Luigi had put his mind to something, and he was going to get it done.  He streamed out a slow breath and kept up his attacks, staying on the offensive, staying focused, his fantasies becoming reality as he continued to hammer away at abs, sides, torso, shoulders and face.  The pupils of his eyes dilated as the cheers and hollers increased in intensity and that song went on and on.  His heartbeats sounded like tam-tams in his chest and his emotions were all over the place.  His eyes shot pain more accurately than his fists, but Falcon was still in his own little world and wanted to show this C tier who was boss.

            Luigi wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of throwing caution to the wind in exchange for brute force.  Nor would he allow him to see that his provocations were actually working.  When word of this got out, Luigi was going to be the victim and Falcon the instigator.  It would be determined that Luigi acted in self-defense.  So, he hung back when he wanted to charge and saved his angry assault for when the racer was barreling at him.  Falcon wasn’t going to twist this incident around.  And the witnesses would all agree—the good Captain started this.

            Luigi was really getting into it when Douglas decided to play dirty.  Snatching up a tumbler, he let the liquid fly straight into his opponent’s face.  The plumber reeled backwards with a startled shout.  The racer pounced on him then, opening his offensive with two face blows, several knees and a barrage of punches everywhere, ending with a crushing uppercut which crashed Luigi to the floor.

            Now he’d done it.  _Now_ he’d done it.  Now Luigi was _really_ mad.

            As he got back up, he heard Falcon continuing to spew his drunken garbage and turned to see him, arms spread wide, yelling at him to show him his moves, as if he didn’t already.

            Oh—kay.  That’s torn it.  Falcon wanted moves, and he’d get moves.  A hangover the next morning would be the least of his problems.  He was going to remember this day—and remember the man in green.

 **While in the merry month of May, from me home I started**  
Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted  
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother  
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother  
  
Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born  
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins  
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o'er the bogs  
And fright'ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin  
  
One, two, three, four, five,  
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road  
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah!

            Douglas seemed to enjoy pushing Luigi’s buttons and continued to do so, the slurred shouting making the plumber’s nostrils flare dangerously.  He held it all in to the point he couldn’t take anymore— _he just couldn’t take anymore and he was going to give in to this rage and fall into Douglas’s trap_ —until Douglas lost patience and barreled at him, Luigi’s cue to release the proverbial restraints and make this guy eat his words.  All bets were off now.  He was forcing Falcon backwards now—pushing him back with punches the way he did with that Polygon.  None of those fancy moves could save him from Luigi’s concerted assault.  Falcon could lash back, but Luigi recovered quickly.  He wasn’t going to be the loser the racer insisted he was.

 **In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary**  
Started by daylight next morning blithe and early  
Took a drop of pure to keep me heart from sinking  
That's a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking  
  
See the lassies smile, laughing all the while  
At me curious style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'  
Asked me was I hired, wages I required  
I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin  
  
One, two, three, four, five  
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road  
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah!

            Nobody in that lounge knew, but there was another spectator watching this fistfight.  And he was watching it from outside the door, positioned so that he could see them, but they couldn’t see him.  It was Master Hand, awakened from his nap by the commotion, and from the moment he walked in on this fight, his sights on Luigi never strayed for a moment.  He saw the tempestuous fury coloring his face.  He saw two tiny images of Falcon reflected in those animated, dilated pupils.  He felt the explosive emotions dancing inside the plumber’s soul.  He felt the sparkles of determination and his shamelessness over doing something he knew was wrong.  He saw the Smashers and Polygons circling the two, most if not all of them cheering for Luigi.  He heard the shouts blending together and the music playing.  He saw Luigi take blows as if they were nothing; he saw the blood pouring all over his battered face.  He saw Falcon’s obviously drunken state.  And he saw the _looks_ Luigi continued to give the racer, that he was fed up, wired, cross and not going to take feces from people like him anymore.  Nobody called him a n—b and got away with it!

 **In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity**  
To be soon deprived a view of that fine city  
So then I took a stroll, all among the quality  
Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality  
  
Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind  
No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'  
Inquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue  
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin  
  
One, two, three, four, five  
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road  
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah!

            Master Hand withdrew in time to hear the first peals of exhilarated hollering coming from Luigi.  The raucous noises from the others and the traditional tune got to him.  His voice rose and rose, nearly muffling the sounds of the blows both sides traded.  He still didn’t know whether to punish them for breaking the rules or just letting them fight their own battle out.  Luigi took the brunt of a ton of mess today, and he saw how inspired Samus, DK, Ness and Link were to see the worst fighter on the roster making a stand.  Luigi began yelling more explosively.  Master’s mind was made up.  The man in green would not be punished.

            He let Mr. Sakurai know via e-mail how wonderful and helpful the tier list was and then continued to visually spectate the fight, musing over the peculiar yet fitting choice of music.

 **From there I got away, me spirits never falling**  
Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing  
The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he  
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy  
  
Down among the pigs, played some hearty rigs  
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling  
When off Holyhead, I wished meself was dead  
Or better for instead on the rocky road to Dublin  
  
One, two, three, four, five  
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road  
All the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah!

            Slowly but surely, tempers boiled themselves down, shouts decreased and energy expended itself.  The fisticuffs were winding down now.  The combatants were pulling themselves together and realizing the trouble they were probably in, hoping that Master didn’t notice their scrap.  Or Luigi was standing over a crumpled and beaten Falcon, trying and failing to make him take back his words.  Who knew what could be going on in there now?

            Master decided that the time to intervene was now.  He leaned into the microphone and spoke.

            “Attention all Smashers, please get ready for your final matches.”

 **Well, the boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed**  
Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it  
Blood began to boil, temper I was losing  
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing  
  
"Hurrah me soul" says I, me Shillelagh I let fly  
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in  
With a load "Hurray" joined in the affray  
We quietly cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin  
  
One, two, three, four, five  
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road  
And all the way to Dublin, whack follol de rah!


	7. Changed

**Where did I go wrong?**

**I lost a friend**

**Somewhere along in the bitterness;**

**And I would have stayed up with you all night**

**Had I known how to save a life…**

**\--The Fray**

            Night had fallen in the Smash Mansion, a calm night to end a tense day.  A soft wind blew as daytime flowers closed their buds and nighttime flowers opened theirs.  Crickets sent up a chirping harmony as a crescent moon presented a luminous sliver and stars formed themselves into constellations.

            After a quiet dinner, the Smashers were more than ready to hit the sack. 

            Mario knelt at his bedside, saying a prayer to the Stars to watch over the Princess and her people, to keep her safe.  After a quick reflection on the day’s events, he added a prayer about his little brother.  He then climbed into bed and stared out the window until he fell asleep, dreaming about Italian cuisine.

            DK chatted with Cranky, Dixie, Diddy and the rest of his family over the phone, telling them that all was well, and that being ranked tenth wasn’t really a bad thing.  He was out in seconds, dreaming about crushing K. Rool once and for all.

            Link recited an incantation to Farore, the Goddess of Courage, to keep watch over him while he slept after having a long heart-to-heart with Zelda.  With her never-ending wisdom, she was able to further calm and comfort him.  As he slept, he dreamed about boyhood memories.

            Samus changed into a blue nightgown with Chozo markings all over it before hopping into bed.  Gently, her pet Metroid climbed into bed with her, and she hugged it to her chest, kissing the top of its head.  “It’ll be okay, little guy,” she whispered as she drifted off.

            Yoshi lay awake for several minutes, thinking about everything that had happened.  A tear seeped from his eye as he recalled what Luigi had been subjected to most of the day.  Hopefully, it would fade into oblivion by tomorrow morning.  The green dinosaur turned over, closed his eyes and nodded off.

            Kirby, wearing a light blue sleeping cap, was already asleep, bubbles slowly drifting from his mouth.

            Fox made phone calls to Falco, Slippy, Peppy and Krystal, still boasting about his good progress, before quickly dropping off.

            Pikachu received accolades from his trainers when he told them about his high ranking.  After the conversation, the electric mouse curled up and was snoring in no time.

            Ness lay on his bed with a few Mr. Saturns tucked under his arm, easy listening tunes on his radio.  He figured that hype like this wouldn’t last long, and that the Smashers would wake up in the morning with their friendships as good as new.  The psychic child closed his eyes, lulled by this optimistic thought.

            Jiggs used Rest.  It’s super effective!

            Captain Falcon was splayed on his bed, passed out from ego and the alcohol he’d consumed, drooling.  The horrors he’d awaken to tomorrow…

            Luigi was the only one still awake.

            He was seated at his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard, blogging like crazy.  Still wired from the incident that afternoon, the adrenaline morphing from action to words.  He minced no words in describing the “pecking order” which Smash had turned into, with him in the position to be “pecked” the most.  He detailed the burning anger which had engulfed him, amplified by Falcon’s antics.  He wrote about the pain from what the spectators were doing to him.  He lambasted the burgeoning community for turning backs on friends they’d made days ago and accused the gamers for placing him last for the sole purpose of tormenting him.  He thanked the fans who hadn’t abandoned him.  His words sizzled into the computer screen; his posts were paragraphs long.  They could be dissertations!  There was no keeping quiet now.  Everything tumbled out of him in waterfalls.  He continued to type until his fingers went stiff, and still, he couldn’t sleep.

            Luigi turned off the computer and wandered to his window, staring into the night.  His fingers gripped the windowsill as Falcon and Fox’s words echoed in his mind.  So, he was they prey, and they were the predators?  Well, one of the “predators” was currently conked out in his room, mottled with the largest bruises you’d ever seen.  The other was kinda scared to go near him now.  What was _wrong_ with those two?  Why couldn’t they just be like the lovable duo of Kirby and Pikachu and maintain their new bonds?  Once upon a time, they could be in the same room with certain fighters and not feel repulsed.  But now—getting wasted, trying to intimidate him and push him around and calling him names?  Luigi had come in second for as long as he could remember, but there was only so much he could take!

            “Let’s see how _high_ you are,” he hissed as he marched toward the center of his room, suddenly wheeling on his pillow, grabbing it, slamming it down and then punching it angrily, pretending it was one of the A tiers.  By the time his rage attack had subsided, the pillow looked rumpled, but was still intact.  Luigi placed it back onto the bed, climbed in, drew the covers about him and tried to make his mind go blank.

            He didn’t succeed.  Silent tears seeped down his face as the last of the adrenaline wore off and the impact of being called those names registered fully inside of him.

            The game of Twister that morning seemed lifetimes ago.


	8. Authority

**Authority ( _n_ ): power to influence thought or behavior; persons in command**

**Authoritative ( _adj._ ): supported by, proceeding from or being an authority**

**\--from _The Merriam-Webster Dictionary_ , 6th ed.**

            Luigi was up well before the others, when night had just faded to gray dawn.  A wad of cash was nestled in one pocket of his overalls, and change clinked in the other.  Just across the way was a 24-hour convenience store which sold everything—and I do mean everything—a Smasher wanted and needed.  This store was considerably smaller than its size today, but it still garnered satisfaction among its customers.  It topped the list of the best convenience stores in Smashville.

            As the first birds awakened and sang their songs, Luigi disappeared into the store.  About ten minutes later, he emerged with his arms full of merchandise.  The sky had really begun to lighten when Luigi returned to his room.

            He briefly leafed through his CD collection, removed the CD of his choice, turned on his stereo and placed the CD in.  Then, from one of the bags of merchandise, he selected a practice dummy, complete with a realistic face and build.  Luigi wasted no time in setting up the dummy.  The salesperson who’d recommended this particular brand assured him that little or no assembly was required, which the man in green appreciated.  Once the practice dummy was ready, Luigi put away the rest of his purchases, opened his curtains and his window, flicked off his lights and hit the “play” button on the stereo.

            And then he pounced on the dummy.

            Mario stirred awake in time to hear the first peals of his brother’s music, which did little to drown out the punches and grunts.  The red-capped hero was rumpled and unshaven, dried drool on both corners of his mouth.  His sleep had been quite the uneasy one and had come in staccato intervals.  Memories of Douglas’s stunt that afternoon had always snatched slumber from him.  It wasn’t just because of what the racer had said to Luigi; it was because the racer had tried and failed to intimidate him.  His baby bro had held his own and given that upstart racer exactly what he deserved.  He could imagine the condition Douglas was in now.

            Mr. Nintendo slid out of bed, showered, washed his hair, shaved and put on a clean shirt and overalls.  He styled his hair in his usual way and slipped on his iconic red hat.  Since breakfast wouldn’t be served in a while, Mario decided to watch some TV while listening to his brother train in the other room.

            Perhaps through some shared telepathy, Ness, DK, Samus and Link were also awake.  DK was lifting weights, Link was practicing with his Master Sword against dummies of his own and Ness and Samus were going for a jog outside.  They all made plans to meet up with Luigi at breakfast and discuss a plan of attack against the “upstairs”, so to speak, because if they messed with one of them, they messed with them all.  Samus really hoped that the Captain saw the light after yesterday’s events, because she didn’t want to stop seeing him.  Douglas was a genial, if annoying, guy, but he just tended to let things get to his head.

            After sleeping on and off most of the night, Luigi was loaded for bear.  He’d purposely selected a CD with lengthy, lyric-less songs so he could just pummel away.  These practice dummies were the number one brand in Smashville because of their ability to last a long time.  Too bad they reminded him too much of Captain Falcon—otherwise, he wouldn’t have focused so much on the stomach area and then the face, shouting as the anger came back to him.  Now, the dummy before him was merely a mangled mess of clay, the face smashed off and the stomach a gaping crater.  There were dents along the neck area where Luigi had practiced some strikes to the throat.  Once the practice tool had been completely rendered useless, Luigi simply replaced it with a fresh one and kept going.  When his CD ran through, he popped in a new one.  And on and on and on and on and on and on it went until he ran out of practice dummies, until he heard his perspiration dripping on the carpet, until his knuckles were sore and until the last of his foul mood had been blasted away.  He turned off his stereo, cleaned up his room and plunked himself down beside the window, breath steadying and sweat drying.  As soon as he was certain he felt better, he stood, went to the bathroom and took a good, long shower.

            Meanwhile, hearing the noises stop, Mario turned off the TV.  Good, his brother was calming down now.  There was the closing of the bathroom door and the rush of the shower.  Then, there was rustling as Luigi changed into a clean pair of clothes.  Quickly, Mario crossed the room to the connecting door and knocked.

            “Bro?  May I come in?”

            A few seconds later, Luigi opened the door.

            And he smiled.

 

            As the Smashers were finishing up their breakfast, Master Hand’s voice crackled over the PA system.  “All Smashers, please report to the main hall immediately.  Leave your belongings behind.  And no talking.”

            By the tone of his voice, everyone knew that something had happened, and that Master was _not_ happy.  Falcon, still sporting a dull headache, was especially alarmed by this sudden meeting.  Fox, also battling his own guilt, placed a paw on the racer’s shoulder.

            Silently, the twelve filed into the main hall and sat on the chairs provided for them, waiting uneasily for Master Hand.  They didn’t have long to wait before he warped into the room.

            “Good morning,” he said.

            “Good morning, Master Hand,” chorused the Smashers.

            “I suppose you’d like to know why you’re here,” said Master.

            “Yes, Master Hand.”

            “I summoned you here because I want to make a clarification about the list hanging on our bulletin board,” Master began.  “That list is not to be used as a tool to judge others or as an excuse to pick on or harass someone just because you’re higher up than them.  That list is designed for competitive purposes only.”

            “What are you getting at, Master Hand?” Falcon had the gall to ask.

            “I am greatly disappointed in the display I observed yesterday,” the glove sternly went on.  “Some of you were actively excluding others from your group.  You were shamelessly mocking your friends and talking down to them.  You were treating them like somebody’s kid sister or brother.  That list is not a social scale—yet you’re treating it as such.”

            He paused to allow his words to sink in.

            “And do you know what I’ve seen on our blog?  It’s open season for the lower-ranked fighters.  I have placed a suspension on their accounts until they remove those abusive posts and apologize.  As for the fighters involved in this, such atrocious behavior ends today.  Forever.  This is your first and only warning.  I called this tournament so different universes can meet and have fun, not tear each other to pieces.  So, if I find out that you’re continuing to use that list as a way to harass your fellow fighters, you will be punished severely.  Do I make myself clear?”

            “Yes, Master Hand.”  Nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the tournament’s leader.

            “Your matches will commence in thirty minutes,” said Master Hand.  “Dismissed.”

            The twelve fighters got up to prepare for the day’s bouts.

            Douglas stopped Luigi as he was about to leave.  “Hey,” he said quietly.

            “Hey,” said Luigi.

            “I feel bad about yesterday,” sighed Douglas.

            “I’m sure you do, because of that hangover,” quipped Luigi.

            “No, I mean I feel _very_ bad,” clarified Falcon.  “Like—it was wrong for me to act like that.”

            “Yes, it was.”

            “Maybe I shouldn’t have called you that name and said that you were a loser.”

            “No, you shouldn’t have.”

            “I kinda acted like an idiot.”

            “You _definitely_ acted like an idiot, and you know it.”

            “It was just—I was drunk and felt on top of the world and…”

            “Like _that_ ’s an excuse.”

            “I deeply regret everything,” sighed Falcon.

            “I know.”

            “Yeah, man,” Fox chimed in.  “You know I didn’t mean all that about a pecking order.  And—you’re not the bottom of the food chain.”

            “Oh, yeah.  You saw that yourself,” winked Luigi.

            “We swear that we’ll never act superior like that again,” promised Falcon, hand over his heart.  “Can you ever forgive us?”

            Luigi looked from one A tier to the other, taking in their hangdog faces, his mind alive with the sounds of their obnoxious shouting and drunken hooting and Falcon baiting him about showing moves and—

            “We’ll see,” he smiled.

            And with that, he turned and made a brisk exit.

            Fox and Falcon exchanged glances and then shrugged.  It was better than nothing.

            _We’ll see…_


End file.
